World War II had been over only a short time when a union at Westinghouse staged a strike against the company. The war had affected everybody in material ways. Supporting the military caused shortages in many things people had taken for granted. Besides the big items, cars, major appliances and such, everyday stuff was rationed, for example coffee sugar, even shoes and of course, gasoline. Shortages of many items remained long after the war’s end. A line would form by the cigarette vending machine before the service man reached it to refill it. Wage and price controls were responsible for some shortages. Most companies had profited during the war and of course the unions wanted their share.

In anticipation of the strike the company rented space on the tenth floor of the National Bank building down town where they set up temporary offices for most of the salaried employees. The engineering department was located in a large meeting room with the draftsmen’s drawing boards located near the windows in the corner of the room for maximum light. The engineers’ desks were arranged in groups according to section, that is motor design, generator design or control systems design. We were a little cramped for space, but we made do. We couldn’t build any prototypes or test any of our equipment because the factory was shut down, so we had to concentrate on paper designs. 

We may not have been very productive during the strike but working downtown had some personal advantages. There were several places to eat downtown that saved my having to eat lunch in the company cafeteria. It was convenient for shopping during lunch hour. There were no shopping malls and stores closed at 5:30 except for one night each week. 

One day one of our stenographers looked down from our lofty perch and noticed a line of women in front of a lingerie shop. “Nylons!” she exclaimed and disappeared, followed by the rest of our girls headed for the elevator.

Nylons? Hm. Then I remembered that girls had been painting their legs with something the color of silk hose. Why? Of course, it wasn’t merely a new fad; new stockings had been scarce. My mind, then working like a steel trap snapping closed on its prey, gave me an idea. The girl I’d been dating had had trouble finding new hose. The next thing I knew I was standing in a line of women.

“What am I doing here? This is embarrassing, standing in line to go into a women’s underwear store. I hope nobody that knows sees me. Maybe I can look like I’m just with one of these gals. Why am I sweating? Oops, the line’s moving.” These and worse thoughts entered my steel-trap mind. Finally it was my turn. What size? Tall. Foot about this long, I showed the salesgirl, holding my hands about ten inches apart. I was let out of prison by paying the girl and leaving with my prize.

When next I saw Mary I hended her the hose, still in the store’s bag saying, “This is for you; hope you like it.”

“Thank you so much,” she said, “What’s the special occasion? It’s not my birthday or anything.”

“Any time I see you it’s a special occasion,” I said and she gave me a big kiss.

“You tall, handsome dude, you know how to wedge yourself into a girl’s heart,” she thought, if I read her mind correctly. 

Sometimes things have a way of working out right.